It's an awkward moment. I don't want to leave him, but I can't be late to my interview.
He nods. "Good luck," he says, turning away from me.
I can't help myself. I call out before he walks too far. "Wait!"
I run up to him as I tear the portrait out of my sketchbook. "For you. I usually give my subjects their portraits when I'm done."
He takes it from my hand, studying it and then studying me. "You always give your art away? Without compensation or recognition?"
I cock my head. "I don't do it for money or recognition," I say. "I do it because it drives my soul in a way nothing else does. And I give it away because it brings joy to people. It brightens their day to know someone has truly seen them, even if just for fifteen or twenty minutes during a subway commute. Everyone has a light to give to the world, and that's mine. In lumen et lumen."
"What did you just say?" he asks.
"In lumen et lumen. It's Latin for In the light, of the light. Something my dad used to say to me and my brother, that we should always strive to live in the light and be of the light. It's always been a kind of guiding mantra for me."
I cock my head and smile. "You never told me your name," I say, holding out a hand. "I'm Eve."
"Sebastian," he says automatically, bringing his hand to mine.
When our palms touch, a shock of electricity shoots through my arm and into me, and my eyes widen. So do his, or I'm imagining it.
"Well, Sebastian, it was a pleasure meeting you tonight. I just have one more question for you before we part ways."
"And what's that, Eve?"
"What's your light? Do you know?"
He might still be back there, pondering my question, or watching me walk away. I don't know, because I refuse to look. Back straight, chest up, I am confident and smart and I am not blowing a potential job for a cute face. Besides, no way am I ready to date after the last shitfest of a relationship. I'm happy enough single.
I stick to my resolve. I don't look back.
But I won't lie, my fingers are itching to draw him again.
And to touch him.
But I shove that inappropriate thought aside and continue on.
On the way to the office, a meow interrupts my thoughts, and I pause and kneel to give an orange tabby some love. The cat pushes against my hand, purring and demanding affection, which I'm happy to accommodate. I always have time for cats, and they always seem to have time for me.
I arrive at my destination after a five-minute walk, the tabby following me until I reach the front door. It's a tall glass and steel office building with no sign out front other than the address and blacked out windows. Very mysterious.
When I walk in, the mystery only deepens. The front lobby is a blend of modern and zen. Clean lines, minimalistic décor, everything in beige and white. The wall behind the receptionist's desk flows with an indoor waterfall over stone. A man and woman, both unnaturally beautiful, both dressed in black, sit behind the desk typing on sleek computers. They look up simultaneously when I walk over, and I'm struck by their matching hazel eyes set against their dark amber skin. Even their bone structure is similar, and before I can stop myself I blurt out, "Are you twins?"
They each nod once, briefly, and then the woman asks, "How can I help you?"
I recognize her voice from the phone call. "I'm Eve Oliver. I have an interview right now."
I don't give more details because I don't have more details to give.
She frowns, then taps a small silver device on her ear. "She's here." She nods. "Have a seat. They will be with you shortly."
I pick a spot close to the front desk so I can do some sleuthing and see if I can find out more about this company. It also occurs to me I should try asking. "Excuse me?"
The two look up in unison and my heart lurches at the familiarity of that in synch connection one can only have with a twin.
"What does this company do exactly? What position am I applying for?" I feel stupid asking, but I'll feel even more stupid going into the meeting knowing nothing.
"They will tell you what you need to know during the interview," the woman says. I still haven't heard the guy speak.
"You can't give me any info?" I ask, perplexed. "A brochure, maybe? Website URL? Anything?"
She gives one curt shake of her head and then returns to her computer.
I sigh, give up, and pull out my sketchbook. I take a deep breath and quiet my mind, closing my eyes, letting stress and worry flow off of me like water. It doesn't take long for my attention to return to Sebastian. I envision every detail that I can recall. The different shades of green in his eyes. The aristocratic slope of his nose. His smooth brow and sharp cheekbones. I don't open my eyes as I sketch. I find sometimes drawing blind helps me hold the vision.
I don't know how long it takes me to finish, but when I open my eyes, I'm staring into his. Well, not really his, but his likeness on my paper. Even in charcoal and pencil he's breathtaking, and I'm ridiculous, lusting after my own drawing. I close my sketchbook and check the time, shocked to see I've already been here over an hour.
"Excuse me," I say, drawing the attention of two sets of impatient hazel eyes. "My interview was some time ago. Do you know how much longer I'll be waiting?"
"Until they call you up," she says, unhelpfully.
"Great. Thanks."
It's after midnight, and I've played more Candy Crush on my phone than I'm willing to admit, when the woman finally leaves her desk and gestures for me to follow.
She says nothing as we walk through marbled halls featuring modern paintings and I'm led to a boardroom. "Sit. They will join you shortly."
Lovely, more waiting. I take a seat at the long, mahogany table and stare out the window overlooking the New York harbor.
When I hear the click of the door, I stand, straightening my skirt suit and wiping my sweaty palm against my jacket. Taking a deep breath, I put on my best professional smile as the door opens.
My smile falters when I see the man standing there. The man whose eyes have haunted me since the subway.
"Sebastian?"
My pulse quickens and I feel a sinking in my stomach. I wanted to see him again, it's true. But not here. Not like this.
Not after I just confessed that I don't really want the job I am here applying for.
A job… apparently… with his company.
The Interview
Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night. ~ Sarah Williams
Another man pushes past him into the room, turning to face Sebastian, then glancing at me. "You two know each other?" he asks. He has the same British accent as Sebastian.
"No," Sebastian says, pulling his eyes away from mine and taking a seat as far from me as possible.
It takes me a moment to really see the other man, but when I finally look at him, I have to do a double take.
I might be in a room with the two sexiest men that have ever lived. And I'm not even exaggerating.
Man #2 is just as tall as Sebastian, though his build is leaner. His hair is a lighter brown and shorter, cut stylishly, and his eyes are ocean blue rather than the forest green of Sebastian's, but the two men share the same sharp cheekbones and nose.
He smiles at me, and I'm dazzled by his charm and his dimpled chin as he introduces himself. "I'm Derek Night," he says, as he takes my hand to shake it. The moment we touch, I'm lost in his eyes, adrift in an endless ocean, nearly drowning in him. I can almost smell the salty spray of the ocean.
I realize I'm holding my breath and I suck in air as my head spins.
He pauses a moment, staring into my eyes as if he also feels this connection. Cocking his head, he releases my hand. "Curious," he says under his breath, before taking a seat near me. "This is my brother, Sebastian, but you seem to already know his name?"
I nod, returning to my seat. "We briefly met in the subway a few hours ago." Brothers. That makes sen
se. Damn, they come from good genes, though.
Derek raises an eyebrow at his brother. "You took the subway?"
Sebastian shrugs and still doesn't look at me. He seems pissed, and I'm assuming it's because he thinks he's wasting his time interviewing someone who doesn't even want the job.
But I do need the job. And I can probably do the job, once I figure out what the job is.
Derek sighs as if he's used to his brother's mercurial moods. He returns his focus to me. "Once our other brothers arrive, we can begin. I apologize for the long wait. We had an emergency with a client that took longer than expected."
My heart hammers hard in my chest at the thought that there are more of them. Isn't two enough? "What kind of business is this that it handles client concerns in the middle of the night?" I ask.
But before my question can be answered, the door opens and two more men walk in. The air around me cracks with unseen electricity and I wonder if I'm the only one who can feel it. The four of them together overwhelm my senses and I brace myself against the table, my flash buzzing under my skin and in my head, making me dizzy.
Derek stands, smiling at the new arrivals. "Everything go okay?"
The tall blond with eyes such a pale blue they're almost white nods. "It's handled." He looks my way. "You must be Miss Oliver?"
I nod.
"I'm Elijah Night." He doesn't offer to shake my hand, and I'm equal measures disappointed and relieved. He's taller than the others, lean, and his light blond hair is longer and pulled back into a tie at the base of his neck. He's pale with a face that looks carved from marble. He pours himself into the chair with ease and grace, like a wild animal settling in.
In fact, all four brothers have an animalistic energy to them. Wild and untamed, despite the expensive suits and polished exterior.
The last brother steps forward and extends his hand, a small frown on his face. "I'm Liam Night," he says. "Welcome to The Night Firm."
He studies me with golden eyes that look like twin suns as we shake hands. He's shorter than his brothers, but only by an inch or so, which still makes him quite tall, and he has wild, dark auburn hair that is stylishly disheveled. When we touch, it's like touching fire but without the pain. A deep burning in my soul, a warmth that spreads through me. I'm melting under the heat of it, under the heat of him.
I pull my hand away as graciously as I can. "Nice to meet you."
He holds my eyes a moment longer, then takes a seat.
Four sets of eyes are on me, and I sit back down, trying not to fidget. The collective stare of the Night brothers is disconcerting. Each of them is entirely unique. Entirely original. And yet, I can feel their connection to each other. I can see the family resemblance. I can feel it in their intensity and power.
"We realize this is a bit of an unusual interview," Derek says, smiling. "Thank you for agreeing to come."
I nod. "I'm certainly intrigued. Do I now get to find out what kind of job I'm applying for?"
Once again, the most critical question I need answered is interrupted when the door opens, and a woman pushing a cart walks through. She is tiny, standing not much taller than four feet if that, with long silver hair pulled back into a braid that rides down her spine. She wears a white robe tied around her waist with a knotted sash. Her face is lined with age and softened by kindness. Her silver eyes are clear and piercing. When she sees me, she smiles as if she's been expecting me—like we are old friends becoming reacquainted. She leaves her cart to take my hand in hers. Her skin is thin and soft, like aged crepe paper.
"It's such a pleasure to finally meet you, my dear," she says in a different accent than the brothers. More Irish than British. "I'm Matilda Night, the grandmother of these boys. If they give you any trouble, you just let me know. I brought snacks and drinks for everyone."
She gives a pointed look at her grandsons before passing out drinks. The brothers have glasses of what look like red wine. An odd choice for a job interview. She hands me a cup of tea and a plate of cookies.
"Thank you," I say, my curiosity about this job and this family ever growing.
Matilda pats my hand and shuffles out the door with the cart, closing it behind her, but not before she gives me a mischievous wink.
I pick up the tea, grateful for something to keep my hands occupied, and blow on it, then sip, surprised to discover it's chai, my favorite, with just the right amount of cream and sugar. Interesting.
"Your grandmother is sweet," I say to the silent room. The brothers exchange secret glances that clearly hold hidden layers of meaning I'm not privy to—the kind of sibling communication I used to have not so long ago—and the pang of seeing it still alive in others causes something in my gut to clench. I squeeze my eyes closed a moment, putting Adam out of my mind.
"To address your question," Derek says, "the role you're applying for here is a bit unusual."
Well, there's a shocker.
"We need someone to manage schedules, help with clients, and assist with any investigations, emergencies or events that arise."
I nod. "Okay. I mean, I'm definitely capable of doing that, but… " I pull out my resume from my bag and place it before me while he continues speaking.
"And we're not an ordinary firm. You'd be working from sundown to sunup, and our location frequently changes, so it's something of a live-in position."
"Live-in? I'd have to live here? In an office building?"
"No. You'd live in our home. With us."
"Just the four of you?"
"And our grandmother and other staff," he says.
My nerves tingle, and my flash hits me with a wave of light that makes me almost vomit. "Where is your home?" I ask, trying to mask the effects of my gift. That's what Adam always called it. A gift. "We're secret superheroes," he would whisper to me when I would cry myself to sleep every night after our father's death. "No one can hurt us."
"That's also complicated," he says.
"This is a waste of time," Sebastian says, speaking for the first time since this meeting began.
Derek looks at him. "What do you mean?"
"She doesn't even want to be here. She doesn't want this job. She told me herself. She's wasting our time. She's not qualified."
My face burns red as blood rushes to it, and that mental barrier that's supposed to keep people from blurting out what's on their mind at inappropriate times snaps in half. So I blurt. "Not qualified? What could you possibly know about my qualifications? Or anything about me at all? You haven't asked about my work history or seen my resume. You have no idea what I'm capable of." I stand, to the surprise of all four of them, and walk to Sebastian, shoving my resume in his face. "I'll have you know I'm more than qualified to work for you. In fact, I'm overqualified. I graduated from Harvard's MBA program with honors. I was Managing Director of the last company I worked for. I'm probably more qualified than you to run your business, whatever the hell it is. You should be working for me." As soon as the words are out I regret them, but it's too late. Words, once spoken, cannot be reined in. They take on their own life, which is why it's so important we choose with care which ideas or words we give birth to. My father tried to teach me that, but I'm clearly still learning the lesson.
Sebastian shoves the resume aside. "And where did you get your law degree?" he asks with ice in his voice.
"What?" I ask, confused.
"If you're more qualified than me to run my business, you must have a law degree. After all, we are a law firm. Where did you get your law degree? I don't see it on your resume."
"This is a law firm?" I ask, more confused than ever. "What kind of law firm does interviews at midnight?"
Derek shoots Sebastian a stern look and takes the resume from him. "We offer our services to a niche clientele. One you will have to become familiar with, should you choose to accept this job."
"Who are your clients? Vampires?" I say with a laugh, but none of them smile. Sebastian smirks and leans back in his chair. I want to smack that
grin off his beautiful, perfect face. Derek narrows his lips and glances at the others. This is too weird. "It was a joke. I obviously don't think your clients are vampires. Sheesh. Tough crowd."
Still, nothing but uncomfortable stares and awkward silences.
"She's not the one," Sebastian says again, and I'm stung by his rejection of me, despite my qualifications, despite the connection I thought we had on the train, and despite the fact that I'm not even sure I want this stupid job.
I ignore my flash that's pushing me to stay and glare at Sebastian. "You're right. I'm not the one. This would be a huge step down in my career. Perhaps if your creepy receptionist gave me an inkling of what this interview was for, I could have spared us all the waste of time. Good day."
I grab my bag and make my way to the door, pulling it open in one harsh movement, but then I stop and glance back at Sebastian, leveling him with my stare. "Harvard," I say.
He narrows his eyes at me, confused.
"My law degree," I clarify. "It's from Harvard as well. I didn't put it on my resume because I didn't take the Bar, and I was never told what kind of firm this was." And with those closing words, I storm out and slam the door behind me.
The moment I do, tension builds inside me, buzzing on my skin, in my head, like spiders hatching within my body. I've felt this before, in the past, when I ignored my flash, but it will go away. I just need to get out of this soulless building and away from these men who make me crazy in too many ways.
But the tension doesn't go away as I walk the halls. It builds. It builds so much it scares me. I search for a bathroom and see a door ajar down the hall. My brain feels like it's swelling and tears prick my eyes at what's to come. This hasn't happened in so long. Not since…not since that day. I thought this was under control.
I knock gently on the door and it opens slowly. I expect to see any number of things—a broom closet, a standard office or waiting room, but what I find is nothing that should exist in this building.
It's as if I've been transported to a castle in an age of magic and wizards. The room is windowless and covered on one wall with floor to ceiling shelves filled with leather-bound books that look like they should be under glass at an important library. Another wall has shelves full of jars filled with different colored powders, roots, and other strange objects. In a corner sits a round table carved from jade and etched in ancient symbols. A fire burns in the center, though I see no source to feed the flames. And the flames are blue, rather than the standard red or orange. While I know blue flames can occur in nature - for example, wood saturated with sea salt can produce blue flames - I don't know of any that can dance atop solid stone like that. Must be a chemistry trick, though why it would be in a law office is beyond me.
I Am the Wild (The Night Firm Book 1) Page 2
